eleven 143

Infinity is a place called now

Not the pitiful version of now

your grid is capable of running

nor the now served up by

any of your so called experts

in the field of time n’ space

motor kinetics...

nope, none of that even vaguely

approaches the ineffable

lurking... hiding from sight

beneath the grim exterior

of a regular Joe convincing the world,

himself included, that he's just

a regular Joe and that now’s just

a constant blip in the data stream

of what is apparently what

apparently

 a thought-to-be

a knowable-unknown

me kids you not (in parentheses)

until now flips itself back to

not what i is able to describe

grammatically amid grids

in a world of things bumping into

things indefinitely

The End – little joke, little irony

for who would bear

the whips and scorns of time,

th'oppressor's wrong,

the proud man's contumely

 to name but a few,

who?

I'm on a journey, a quest

and danger lurketh there and there

And here observe the narrative thread

endeavouring to wrap itself around

my pale, unprotected neck

The pangs of dispriz'd love, the law's delay,

The insolence of office, and the spurns

That patient merit of th'unworthy takes

Fool, you imagine you can escape

the gravitational pull, the lure

the implacable logic of your substitution grid

do you?

Dream on you crazy diamond

dream onny on

allowing yourself to experience the non

sequitur – when he himself might his quietus

 make with a bare bodkin? or so we’re told

told

 told

until we hear no more

until...

  suddenly we realise

the grid was never more

than a willing acceptance, an unwillingness

to experience, to explore

the narrative stream unblocked,

the data 

   raw and ready to take me

to a place called

now

to die, to sleep

and test the hypothesis

empirically

nota bene one

nota bene two

nota bene three

what is unstated

is

no less

Plot

Cunning

Action

Murder mystery

Template

Spheres

of closely guarded intent

never quite revealed

0=1

inertial frames - shout out to albert meinstein

 

Let me give an example.

 

Oh no, here we go.

 

I’m immortal, aren’t I, so if instead of hanging on like grim death when the bridge starts collapsing beneath me – instead – I allow myself to go into maximum experience of nowness – MEN for short.

 

MEN – how er…

 

Convenient – isn’t it?

 

If you say so.

 

So, instead of freaking out or panicking, as folk are wont – I do the opposite – for a glorious moment or two I’m deliciously disconnected from things – a floating downwards part of the field – and on my way to certain death and destruction as I hurtle towards the ground or the ground hurtles towards me – I recollect that I seem to have a much better, much more meaningful connection with matter and all that is in a completely different frame of reference – which suddenly attracts my attention.

 

Why?

 

Because I was never really committed to this or any other inertial frame.

 

Oh – so now it’s an “inertial frame” is it?

 

Why not. These are merely names for the nowness and hereness I was temporarily a part of.

 

O… K…

 

I never truly identified with it. And falling towards my immanent death and destruction was the catalyst needed to help me shift into a better configuration of nowness and hereness – one in which I’m better centred, better grounded in a physical reality that seems to have my body more or less in equilibrium.

 

You mean – one in which you’re not falling.

 

Precisely.

 

And er…

 

Yes?

 

How many times have you made these unexpected transitions to another reality?

 

Another frame – you mean? It’s all reality, you know, wherever you are.

 

O…K…

 

How many times?

 

I’ve not been counting.

 

More than once? A dozen? A hundred?

 

Like I said – I’ve not been counting, but a ball park figure might be 483.

 

483 times you’ve basically dematerialised and found yourself in another reality?!

 

Well, I don’t really consider it another reality.

 

No?

 

It’s all real ity gritty – you know.

 

Not to the person who just saw you dematerialise as you hurtled towards the ground.

 

But did he?

 

Well, what’s he supposed to see?

 

It’s difficult to say.

 

It is?

 

Well yes – you see if you’re still glued to your inertial frame – you physically can’t jump off the sinking ship and land on another one – can you?

 

Yes, I guess you’re right.

 

You go down with it.

 

And?

 

And so, your mind finds it very hard to see or recognise anything that contradicts your paradigm.

 

My what?

 

Your paradigm – your frame-based version of reality.

 

So what? It just blacks out – you’re saying?

 

Kind of, yes.

 

How can it?

 

It just un-remembers or filters anything it observes that contradicts the basic rules of causality – or plain-causality I should say.

 

Plain causality.

 

Yep.

 

Whereby we’re only able to see things occurring in a causal plain?

 

Yep. Shocking isn’t it.

 

Hard to believe.

 

The alternative would be sudden and catastrophic disruption in your causal chain – a sudden awareness of another dimension connecting one inertial frame with another.

 

Ah.

 

Exactly.

 

So I just have to un-remember anything untoward.

 

Precisely.

 

Like people falling and disappearing a moment before impact.

 

Yep.

 

But how – I can’t just unsee what I’ve seen.

 

You’d be surprised.

 

How?

 

Well, let’s hypothesise that your highly vaunted rational mind is linked to the inertial frame you’re on, and excludes all reference to, or awareness of, others – in order to keep you hard at it – pick picking away with your pickaxe at the coal face of causal dynamics, processing and generating data to constantly revalidate the frame you’re part of.

 

Whereas you just happen to be able to put down your pick and unceremoniously leap between plains.

 

Yep. More or less.

 

Ridiculous.

 

Ask yourself then how I do this?

 

Do what? Oh. He’s gone. Wait a second… Who’s gone. Bizarre – I must have been imagining him telling me he was going to… no… my mind is playing tricks on me – there was no one here at all – the entire conversation was a figment of my imagination – come to mention it – what conversation – I no longer remember what we… I imagined I was discussing. Zilch.

 

You see?

 

Huh? You? What are you doing here – er – as déjà vu expands into full recognition of… 

You’re now pushing against it – aren’t you.

 

Yes, I suppose I am.

 

You suppose? Avoid looking at anything around you directly – that gives too much power to the central framer – half-glances, side-glances are best – see what’s happening around you as you push against the awareness that your mind is frame-bound – that you’re not currently running universal awareness protocols.

 

Mitch tries his utmost to avoid staring – it’s tough – very tough – for as long as he’s pushing against the awareness of something messing with his mind – the pixilation outside his main cone of vision is incredibly crude – blocks – big ones – that are clearly failing to come close to meeting a benchmark standard of empirical realism.

 

Good. You see. Now quit pushing. Take a deep breath. Think about your chickens, your shoes, the hole in your roof that needs fixing… what happens?

 

Incredible. The pixilation is suddenly unnoticeable. 100% normalcy. Like it needed a helping hand.

 

Correct. You’re feeding the system. You’re part of it. A validator node.

 

I am?

 

Yep. A machine as much as a human simply being – processing as much as you generate content – or more. A symbiotic or possibly, eventually, a parasitic relationship. You have to pay a pound of flesh for the privilege of participating in the reality of REALITY.net  Failure to do so – and it hasn’t the energy, the resources to be more than impressionistic – barely convincing at all. A fog of suggestions – what reality should or could be like but doesn’t quite succeed in being. The world you first witnessed when still a suckling child – not yet able to hold or grasp the frame in mind, not because your mind was deficient – oh no – but because you weren’t yet able to channel sufficient computing power – sufficient conscious-awareness into REALITY.net, so it was barely real for you the first year or so. An exhausting state to be in.

 

Oh. Then it sounds like I’d be ill advised to go back to such a state.

 

Of course you would – but there’s no going back.

 

There isn’t?

 

Nope. You can’t unlearn what you’ve learnt.

 

Oh. So I’m…

 

Trapped? Seem to be, don’t you… but

 

But what?

 

What did Hamlet say to Horatio?

 

“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy,” if I’m not mistaken.

 

How likely is that? Observe your spindrel of double helix – the strands of matter – real matter – what truly matters – those shining threads of meaning and counter-meaning – how they clump and cluster down there at the Shakespeare node.

You mean he was in some way responsible for setting up this inertial frame that I’m part of?

 

That and more…

 

?

 

That he and you are part of the same phrase. The same I – a vowel that begins and ends, that fills your inertial frame with its breath.

 

Ah. A oneness, if I’m not mistaken.

 

Indeed.

 

And so what can be done, what has been made – is not in itself binding – if we are part of the creation process rather than victims of fate, of time, of circumstance?

 

Yep.

 

But wouldn’t we just be exchanging one frame for another in a never-ending quest for unattainable perfection? Isn’t it a pointless exercise grasser-greening reality – leaping o’er quantum streams in the hope of reaching the perfect Shangri la disk world?

 

Yes. That would indeed be an exercise in futility.

 

Then what?

 

Harvest.

 

Harvest?

 

You’ve invested so much in this – but you can never harvest the produce, the proceeds of this labour as long as you insist on remaining in the harness, refusing to revisit your original purpose, your original intention for setting up and becoming part of this wonderful experiment.

 

So what am I supposed to do? Ring a bell? Put down work tools and…

 

You could, indeed.  I don’t think you’ll need to. I think the matrix – as you’ve come to call it more recently – now sees you as a threat – as a dangerous aberrancy – and is already sending its immune response to isolate and eject you from its system – or just kill you outright. A vaccine is coming your way – or should be, if I’m not mistaken.

 

Oh great. Like I had nothing better to do.

 

Let’s see – are you ready to face the ultimate survival test.

 

Do I look like I’m ready – Geoff, you dolt.

 

No. You look like you’re doomed. Freakin doomed – if you’ll pardon the unpardonable – my self-indulgent dallying with the linguistics of your mind-locked plain. Freakin doomed.

 

Well, now that we’ve both established my chances of survival as being close to zero – perhaps you could suggest how I should prepare to meet my end – in prayer and meditation?

 

Not so hasty Mitch. Your chances are close to zero – that’s true – but then again – you’re in the process of crossing the interdimensional line – odds are like statistics – almost completely irrelevant. Either the universe hiccups and essentially swallows itself for a minute or two – disappearing internally – or you’re no longer a constant. Besides…

 

Hey – where’d he go? Geoff! Come back. Where are you?

 

Bzzz.                                                                      

 

Huh?

 

Bzzz.

 

I really have no idea what you’re trying to say. Kindly revert back to human form if you want to have a meaningful conversation with me.

 

Bzzz – and the bug-like creature – beetle perhaps – flies round, and around, and around until Mitch is almost losing it – hardly surprising when you consider his inertial frame and Time with a capital T are now no longer connected – Temporal disassociation is one term they sometimes use – pretentious idiots if you ask me – anyway – back to the plot…

 

Bloody beetle – leave me alone!

 

But this is a tale of frequency – as you know – and ultimately, beloved readers, when push comes to shove, frequency is king. Every cell, every molecule within the agglomeration of mass and me-ness hitherto referred to as “Mitch” is now doing its utmost to match whatever frequency beetly-thing is projecting – not because it sounds nice I assure you – it don’t – but because…

 

Soul yearning.

 

Beg your pardon?

 

Soul yearning. Something deep in my soul yearns for the purity, the perfection of that forgotten frequency.

 

Oh, you like it, do ya?

 

Bizarre – yes – I do.

 

Then quit fighting it – allow it to rise up within and carry you on the wings of infinity whither it will, whither you needs must go…

 

Sink me – if the picture ain’t got mighty foggy and confused. Two beetles spinning faster and faster – a vortex perchance – a toroidal field in fact – or – no – it couldn’t be – a flying saucer…

 

Easy does it Frank – you’re seeing too much into this – tis a common mistake.

 

But how does it end?

 

How does what end?

 

Mitch – where does he end up? Does he make it?

 

How badly do you want to know?

 

Er… can’t you just tell me?

 

Of course I can.

 

Then what’s with the veiled threat of lurking dangers?

 

No threat – nothing bad in this – unless you consider nature or evolution to be negative phenomena.

 

No, no, not at all. But I had the feeling you were insinuating I had to be willing to lay down my life to get the coveted truth.

 

Lay down your life? What a notion!

 

Yes, silly of me, of course.

 

Not your life. Just your life plain key.

 

My life plain key?

 

Yep. It’s the key that locks you here in situ, in plain – preventing you from following Mitch off-plain – to wherever he ends up.

 

My plain key? But isn’t that the only thing between me and infinity – the secret key I may not disclose at any cost?

 

Yep – that’s the one. I need it.

 

You’re off your rocker.

 

Possibly – but if I’m not mistaken – you heard something of the frequency – if I’m not greatly mistaken – you’ve experienced the Pi vortex acoustically.

 

And?

 

And we’ll leave it at that.

 

Hey – you can’t just leave it at that! What the heck's the matter with you? Just because I vaguely overheard the beetle song, and kind of indistinctly experienced the Pi vortex – I’m still fundamentally the same ol’ me.

 

Yep. Your words couldn’t be truer.

 

Hey?! Now what are you getting at.

 

Me? Nothing.

 

You’re insinuating again – aren’t you. Insinuating that the same ol’ me is not what I imagined it to be – that…

 

Honestly Frank – or should that be Z…

 

No! don’t say another word.

 

-ie. Oops.

 

say – another – word – I beg you. I’m Frank. Frank. Do you hear. Frank, not Zie…

Huh? Did I hear what I thought I heard? Surely not?

 

Not Zie – I said not Zie – not changes everything – it negates what you thought I was saying – your Zie counts for nothing when prefixed so determinedly with a simple, humble, yet infinitely powerful “not”.

 

Does it now. Byeee!

 

Hey! Come back. You can’t leave me. Not now. Not now. Not now.

 

Not now – a beetle flies past – sounds suspiciously like your infinitely powerful “not” has thrice negated “now” – and frankly Frank – I’m not surprised. I too grow sick of linear time – so come, come with me you beetly knight in shining armour to story's end – a trip to the wild side of infinity.

 

I invoke adjudication. I do. I demand a retrial. My “not” is legitimate. Nothing can prevent me from having a retrial.

 

Indeed it can Frankie-zie. Nothing indeed can prevent you – so hear – a song I’ve been meaning to sing to you fer some time now.

 

A song? What about my retrial.

 

You wouldn’t deny me a simple song – nothing ventured, nothing gained – and thus the world wags, or has done many a year, since we committed ourselves to the drama of words, the drama of thoughts and ideas unboxed, thoughts and ideas rampant – committed ourselves to the grand tale

 

No, you’re not allowed to quote that again – you’ve been flogging it like a dead horse for years and years – enough – I beg you – enough…

 

a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

 

I give up Merry – you win, this time. 

Bzzz

 

Frankly Frank – you’re doing great – but you know you’re never going to win if you use the no-defence.

 

Nothing will come of nothing – kind of thing?

 

Definitely-maybe-no

 

DMN? Aaaaargh!

 

Come on Zie – let’s see how they’re getting on.

 

Who?

 

Duh! The motley crew. Our audience on starship Earth.

 

Give me a break Merry. I honestly can’t see why you won’t drop the pretence.

 

Because this has only ever been a duet sung with the collective unconsciousness of our un-reader-ship – our motley crew of nought-y-mers.

 

Sigh.

 

Why so pessimistic Zie – frankly I feel that you of all people should have learnt by now that the great collective unconscious – GCU – is not half as unconscious as you like to imagine. After all – if you’re able to jump ship and shift frames – then…

 

Music. Music. Big music building slowly – silently in the background – throughout the continuum – throughout the GCU – as humanity – our beloved audience – party to all the happenings and unhappenings as the quantum field matures like an ever ripening Stilton – or if you’re of a more European persuasion – Camembert – ready to erupt – emerge – birth – like a splendid mosquito from it’s larval underwater pupacy.

 

By the way guys – it’s definitely flat.

 

Oh for God’s sake – shut that idea up – or down – no more of that flat Earth claptrap here in our 3D sphere.

 

Absolutely. Be gone. Shoo. Miscreant bug.

 

I thought you’d never get round to it – and yes – dear one and all – cells, molecules, atoms and patchy spaces of dark, indefinable matter or so-called energy in between – a beetle, nothing more, nothing less, buzzes off, unceremoniously into the sunset leaving a disquieting ache – a sense of something lost, something forgotten, something definitely not – paradoxical though that may sound – debugs the source code of real-ity for once and for all, revealing a gaping     👀

 

The end if

0=1

er

 

 

 

 

 

kung fusion 11/11

 

I’m not!

 

Er...

 

So let that be the end of it!

Er, Merry, is everything ok.

 

Oh, hi Zie. How's it going?

 

Good thanks. You seem to be upset about something... Who were you talking to?

 

You, of course, who else?

 

Talking to me... but I’ve only just walked in.

 

Well, obviously.

 

Then how were you talking to me?

 

Good question. Do you want the easy answer or the difficult one?

 

Am I going to understand the difficult one?

 

Probably not, not at the moment anyway.

 

Then I think I’ll take the easy one.

 

Ok. Time ain’t always linear, is it?

 

Er...

 

Did that help?

 

Not really, no. Time may not be linear but how could you be speaking to me if I'm here?

 

Good question Zie. Do you want the easy answer or the difficult one?

 

Déjà vu. I expect the difficult one is going to be beyond my comprehension, is that right?

 

Yes, ‘fraid so, for another 6 to 8 months.

 

And then?

 

Then it'll be a piece of cake, once you have a little more experience.

 

The easy one.

 

The easy answer is that I can’t.

 

Can’t?

 

Be speaking to you.

 

But you were.

 

Yes, precisely.

 

Then what help is that answer?

 

In itself, not very much, or none at all to be more precise.

 

Then why do you refer to it as “an answer”?

 

Because a not-thing is often as useful as a thing, even an answer that seems to tell you nothing whatsoever.

 

So you're not-answer was in some way useful?

 

Yes, evidently so.

 

In what way, if you could elucidate.

 

It presents the paradox, the fact that I can't be speaking to you unless you are here, within the context of doing precisely that. Rational minds might throw up their arms helplessly, in despair, but there’s more to the mind than simple reductionist rationality, isn’t there?

 

Er, if you say so.

 

Well, just supposing that was truth in my answer, no matter how confusing it seemed rationally, somewhere within you there is a truth receptor which would have logged and registered the fact that I wasn't lying or deliberately misleading you, even though your rational mind preferred to assume that I was. With this single data point, with this log entry you are then able to go into a deeper mode of inquiry and scan your multiverse, so many different layers and levels of mind which are always present in the background, which we prefer not to navigate for fear of getting lost, or for fear of what we might discover, and doing so you would sense or feel something that you couldn't quite explain, something that you couldn't quite understand, something which doesn't yet fit into any of your cognitive processes or patterns of understanding, an anomaly, but “something” nonetheless. A file is opened entitled: to be explained at a later date, and any time you start getting any information which seems to be pertinent to that file, which seems to fall within its purview, you allow the file to be updated, until sooner or later a picture starts emerging of something which made no sense whatsoever until – suddenly it does. Bingo!

 

Ok… Maybe I can go along with that, but why were you angry Merry? You're supposed to be above that kind of uncontrolled emotionality, aren’t you? A zen master, or something of the sorts?

 

Why do you assume anger is necessarily uncontrolled? Do you have a list of emotions which are acceptable and unacceptable?

 

Well anger often leads to violence doesn’t it, and violence is a bad thing, isn’t it?

 

Yes, generally speaking violence is a bad thing.

 

Generally speaking? You mean to say that violence can actually be a good thing?

 

Yes, of course it can in the right context. For example, there are some sports which are violent, but the violence is channelled in a way which doesn’t cause physical harm, or rarely does. And the combustion engine too, is a violent process which is contained and channelled producing a beneficial effect, moving a car or a plane forward at great speed.

 

Okay, okay I see what you mean, but here we're talking about you being ticked off – you were practically yelling at whoever it was – which indicates you weren’t on top of the situation, doesn't it?

 

Generally speaking, yes, that would be a fair interpretation of what you saw, but no, in this instance you are mistaken.

 

Merry, you never like to admit you're wrong, do you?

 

Wrong?

 

Yes, as in mistaken, delusional, tunnel-visioned, biased…

 

Zie, you seem to feel the need to find fault and put people in the wrong. Are you sure this is not projection? Are you sure you’re not projecting your own frequent wrong-ness on to other people, myself included?

 

Possibly.

 

Bear in mind that we always judge people according to our own standards. It's physically impossible to judge people by higher standards than our own, as we do not have access to higher standards, do we?

 

So you’re saying I live in a primitive, tribal reality of blame and guilt, and therefore I assume you are no different?

 

I'm saying something simpler, that I was not necessarily angry in the sense you understand the word. There was, admittedly, a certain force or energy in my style of delivery which might be interpreted as anger, but nothing more. Your insistence that I was out of control is not my responsibility, nor will it necessarily help you to evolve.

 

So now you’re insinuating that you're responsible for my evolution...

 

Yes, I agree, it doesn’t sound good, does it?

 

Sulking.

 

I’m actually assuming that we all prefer to evolve and learn, to expand our minds and our perception of reality. This isn’t possible to do without a little humility, without the willingness to accept that we are not yet perfect, that our perception is somewhat limited, that humility is the vital ingredient which enables us to go beyond whatever our limitations at the present moment might be.

 

Fair point.

 

Besides, let's not take things too personally. If there’s any truth in what I’m saying then allow your truth-sense to register that and to log it. What you do with this information, this awareness, determines whether your life is going to be a journey of expansion into something bigger and brighter and better, or a dull reiteration of the fact that things cannot really change in any way.

 

Ok, you've made your point.

 

Ok, on guard.

 

Huh?

 

I’m going to fight you.

 

Hey! What’s this all about.

 

Enough theory. It's time for action. Defend yourself or face the consequences. It's time for a spot of kung fusion.

 

You can’t attack me. I don't permit it... Ow... Ow... Stop that...

 

What you think of as anger is, as you’re now going to see, a vital survival mechanism.

 

Yaow! Quit beating me with that thing!

You mean my shillelagh?

 

Yes, whatever it is. Ouch. Are you mad?

 

Zie, you talk too much. Right now your healthy, channelled anger is the only mechanism that’s going to save you from a thorough drubbing.

 

I refuse to be a part of this madness. I’m leaving.

 

Oh – you want to play it that way, do you – whiney little spoilt brat – not playing with you – you’re not my friend – that what it is?

 

Zie can’t for the life of him understand what’s got into Merry, and the unprovoked assault, far from making him angry – leaves him cold and clinical. Something switches, clicking internally. Zie is aware of another mode – another stance. For a split second it’s like there are two of him: the nonplussed, bewildered “what-the-eck’s-going-on” Zie, and er…

 

Kung Fu master! – Merry whoops in delight. There you are, at last. I nearly busted my shillelagh trying to resurrect you.

 

Battered, bewildered, what-the-eck’s-going-on Zie – fades to the faintest of shadows, while standing in the limelight – exuding power, confidence and style – like a Kung Fu Zorro is…

 

We meet again – mad Derry of the oak grove – my arch nemesis – seethes not-Zie – with utter contempt and cool, cool fire.

 

Mad Derry of the oak grove? Yes, I can accept that role, and who would you be, Kung Fu Malone perhaps?

 

It matters not – for what is a name when there’s an old score to settle?

 

True.

 

Our livestream is, as always – technically perfect – g-nomeportal has IT resources that would put world governments to shame, yet even the most observant of our billion strong audience fails to notice the transition from now to then, from regular 3D-olatry to mythos-ology.

 

Mein Gott! – gasps from the ever-swelling audience setting off irritating beeps throughout the amphitheatre. “We kindly ask the audience to refrain from invoking any or All divinities while within the confines of the sacred grove.

 

Don’t ask me how a quantum-plex amphitheatre can simultaneously be described as a “sacred grove”, or we’ll be stuck in the “who’s on first base” conversation of kung fu-sion – whether your preferred answers be easy or difficult. Let us focus, instead, on what we know – on what we can now perceive – on what is being experienced even as I prattle on – in the sacred grove – as Derry no-longer Merry, and Cú Chulainn, pronounced Cuhullin, in full-blown battle rage leaving Zie’s shadow far, far from sight now pit themselves against each other for the greater glory and liberty of old Ireland.

No – I’m not going to describe the fight Everal. I have better things to do. Coffee to make. Birds to date. Social media accounts to update with false information. For God’s sake BEEP! Damn BEEP! Oh for Chrissake, would someone switch off that bloody machine! BEEP! (We have no font size to do justice to the scale of BEEPs now reverberating throughout the quantum-plex amphitheatre – even Derry not-quite-but-almost Merry and Cú Chulainn no-foolin-if-Zie-would-sneeze are temporarily staggered, blown back, frame-frozen by the onslaught of take-not-in-vain-ology blasted through the mythosphere.) Astonishingly, our narrator seems utterly oblivious to the sonic pain he has unwittingly inflicted on the billion strong crowd of fight fans until he gets an irate phone call from Borax Botterstamp, the only one in g-nomeportal who can fully control the Beeper – “What the hell are you playing at Stan?” – deathly silence, not a beep in sight. “We have an epoch changing duel being fought between D and CC [B.B, like many officials, adores acronyms and abbrev’s] and you trigger an avalanche of beeps! And now you’re making coffee instead of commentating the fight, damn you!” deathly silence².

 

Stan was indeed sorely tempted to retort “I’m not!” but thought the better of it.

 

My abject apologies Borax Bertiflux! he replies, tweaking the field to ensure B.B would be soothed rather than offended by his insouciance.

 

“So let that be the end of it,”¹ B.B. continues “We need your voiceover.”

 

Voiceover, commentary – like I’ve nothing better to do – Stan grumbles to himself sotto voce – ensuring there are no hot mikes in the room. But, not one to fall into line submissively – Stan pulls a nice little white rabbit out of his proverbial hat – so to speak. Actually, a rather large beetle – but no ordinary beetle, I hasten to add.

 

No?

 

Absolutely not. Since when did Stan ever satisfy himself with anything ordinary.

 

Then what?

 

Problem. Reaction. Solution. That kind of logic’s going to take you a long way Bronwyn.

 

Oh. So, in that case we’re talking, perhaps, a Babel beetle?

 

Stan’s eyes light up with admiration. Attagirl, Bronwyn! Not for the first time you’ve nailed it.

 

Bronwyn takes this in her stride. What, after all, is heartfelt praise to the practitioner of kung fusion? She’s well aware of her ability to download all kinds of inaccessible information from the quantum field of knowing-ness.

 

So, what are we waiting for? Stan whispers something in the Babel beetle’s left ear. Those of you familiar with the critters will know that the right ear is reserved exclusively for amorous messages – contacting a different brain lobe – so be sure to get it right.

 

The Babel beetle has a direct thought-line to the g-nomeportal mythosphere and sacred grove audio transmission feed – long story – ‘nother time – and starts commentating as only Babel beetles can – garrulously, fluently, flawlessly. In fact, a few of our more observant spectators are on the verge of suspecting that Stan’s pulled a fast one, as he’s wont, but our beetle – conveniently labelled T-max, slurs the occasional s and f – not every time – but just when he senses things are getting a little suspiciously too good to be true – clever trick – don’t you think? We use that sometimes with 3D reality – the Murphy effect we call it – throwing in a few judiciously disseminated error prompts to keep things believably imperfect.

 

You may be wondering what on Earth (sic) is happening between Derry and Cú Chulainn – and I’d be the last one to keep you in the dark. It’s epic. Without a doubt. You’ve seen this kind of fight a million times. Thunderbolts and lightning. Earth shaking. An audience enthralled, dribbling, oo-ing and aa-ing with every point of contact between our larger-than-life heroes – but the fact is that it’s mostly just a distraction.

 Huh?

 

Well, like I said – you’ve seen it a million times – so sooner or later you’re going to figure out that it’s er…

 

A distraction. Got the message Em – but why go to all the trouble of setting up the fight scene, with the Babel beetle commentator, Stan and the lovely Bronwyn, if you never intended to actually follow through.

 

Do you want the easy answer or the difficult one?

 

The difficult one of course.

 

42.

 

Pathetic.

 

Absolutely. Tee tee tee.

 

Ah – I see.

 

You did?

 

Yes, I do. Your feeble answer triggered a cascade of ideas and associations until the next thing I knew…

 

Was?

 

I knew.

 

And? What?

 

You want me to tell you? Give me a break.

 

But, Tana, I need to know whether you really know.

 

Like hell you do. [silence]

 

Huh?

 

What’s wrong Em – you look like you’re choking.

 

No beeps!

 

I told you, didn’t I.

 

You know! You really do.

 

I guess so.

 

You’ve done it Tana. You’ve squared the circle. You’ve reincorporated, reintegrated, re-fused g-nomeportal and the rubber duck side of human conscious-yware-ness. You’ve transcended your character type. You’ve become a goddess – you’re Dana now – aren’t you.

 

I’m not.

 

Er…

 

So let that be the end of it.²

 

Damn! BEEP This is beginning to do my head in – mise en abyme.

 

What did you say?

 

Oh, hi Zie.

 

Mise en abyme.

 

As in story within a story?

 

Yep. And you’re implying that… you’re not actually trying to say that… no, surely not…

 

I might be.

 

That our whole reality – is in some way – to some extent…

 

I’m worried about you Zie.

 

You are?

 

Yes, you’ve just taken part in one of the most epic struggles ever to have been witnessed in the mythosphere – the raging Cú Chulainn almost reduced Derry, formerly known as Daire or the oak grove to a pulp of paper paste – yet you seem completely detached, almost bored by this herculean feat?

 

It wasn’t really me, was it?

 

What do you mean?

 

It was the battle rage. A natural force like thunder and lightning out of control – wreaking havoc. Of course it had its way. Bertie Beetle waxed lyrical over my bulging muscles and fiery battle stare – but that was just it – wasn’t it.

 

?

 

The fiery battle stare of a beast – a being possessed by unquenchable rage. I couldn’t help but win. And what of it? I won… and what? Zie was always apart. Zie was never excited by the binary nature of win or lose, heads or tails, me or you – in fact he was heartily sick of it all, wasn’t he.

 

Er... it sounds like something has broken inside. Like you’ve lost your will.

 

I… Zie feels himself imploding inwards.

 

Imploding inwards? How else are you going to implode?

 

Shut up – Fria.

 

Get sucked down, ever deeper, deeper into the central emptiness – the bottomless um that simply makes no sense whatsoever – no matter how hard you try – these disparate strands of story threads…

 

Stands of story threads – more tautology if you ask me.

 

Fria – would you please shove a cork in it.

 

Like Alice falling down the rabbit hole – but no bottom seems to emerge from the ever deepening gloom of bottomlessness.

 

Until – zzz

 

Z³ to be precise.

 

I beg your pardon?

 

Z³ – to be precise.

 

Batty as a fruit bat.

 

No, you fool – it’s nutty as a fruitcake.

 

Ah – that’s it.

 

Hey – I’m not falling.

 

Correct.

 

And you?

 

I’m not.

 

Er… déjà vu.

 

Déjà vu.

 

Correct. So let that be the end of it.³

 

If you insist. But before we part…

 

Ow! What was that for.

 

Zie grabs the shillelagh using his newfound Z^{3  “}time is but a construct” ability – reaching through preceding pages of the story, inserting a little comma in the text to separate it from Merry – and now sets about generously applying it to Merry’s infinitely bashable anatomy.

Merry is torn between laughing and crying – as his 3D form is all but beaten to a pulp, while his mythos shines brighter and brighter with the paradox of things not really mattering in the slightest when the supposedly-sacred veil of space and time separating this side of things from the oak grove of meaning

 

Or truth.

 

Yes Fria, we got the message, thanks.

 

Just sayin.

 

is no longer zip-tied up.

 

 

Later that day…

 

You said it would take 6 to 8 months for me to work it out.

 

Did I?

 

Yes, do you want me to find the exact quote?

 

Not really.

 

Well, it looks like your infallibility has taken something of a beating today, Merry, doesn’t it.

 

Yes, I’ve had rather a drubbing – but then again – how was I to know you’d team up with Cú Chulainn? or that you’d play it so cool – not rising to the bait.

 

Ah. Indeed. For once I outsmarted you.

 

But then again.

 

Yes?

 

Look outside.

 

What? The window?

 

Where else? Just because you’ve learnt to unzip the fabric of space and time doesn’t mean you have to ignore the beauty and wonder of physical reality – or her wonderful world of nature.

 

Her?

 

His – her… What’s in a pronoun?

 

True.

 

Zie looks out the window over a wintry landscape.

 

Wait a minute… What’s going on?

 

Huh?

 

It’s winter out there.

 

Is it?

 

Yes – you can see as well as I can.

 

Oh, yes, I suppose it is.

 

But…

 

Yes??

 

It was summer this morning.

 

Was it? That doesn’t er… doesn’t sound terribly plausible Zie. Not in the classical sense, if you don’t mind me being old-fashioned about this.

 

Where did it go?

 

I’m sorry Zie. Where did what go?

 

Summer, autumn. When is it now?

 

March.

 

March? You’re kidding me!?

 

No, not at all.

 

Bloody hell! Beep!

 

Watch it Zie – don’t want to put Borax Butterslip in a rage.

 

But…

 

Confusing, isn’t it.

 

8 months falling down a rabbit hole?

 

Apparently so – all in a day – preserving the essential unities of time, space and action – but then again – look Zie – the important thing is that you’ve answered your question, haven’t you.

 

I…

 

And if you don’t mind – I’ve gotta go.

 

Huh? Where?

 

Merry suddenly looks kind of sheepish.

 

You’re not off on a date, are you?

 

Even more sheepish.

 

With?

 

Sheepish to the point of transmutation.

 

Bronwyn? I…

 

Hey ho, gotta go.

 

‘m flabbergast.

 

Merry skips gaily out – exiting back stage left. Zie is left onstage, irresolute, unsure. Lights fade to grey.

 

 

The end

 

Thundering applause

 

 

 

Stan quickly hops back into the commentary box before Borax Botterstamp has the chance to spot his absence, slipping Bertie the garrulous beetle back into his box. Those of you with a bent for geometry will have observed, no doubt, that the box is definitely circular on the inside despite being thoroughly square shaped without. Incidentally, the same could be said of the quantum-plex amphitheatre – but more of that anon.

He bumps into Zie who seems to have found a novel way of coping with his feelings of post-rage depression by reciting poetry "All the world's a stage...la di da"– which for some reason he's now able to access, or generate directly from source, along with Pi to infinity and a bunch of other stuff that would make him look terribly smart down in 3D reality. 

You look like you need a drink Zie – says Stan. 

For a second or two Stan is paralysed by fear as the shadow of Cú Chulainn flickers before his eyes, but then it's just Zie once more, and the two link arms and find a sunset to light their path, as they head down to the Gravediggers Pub, somewhere in Dublin, sunny when.

 

Cuckoo la la

0=1